


The Swan

by Luckyrabbit1001



Category: Ancient Greek Religion & Lore
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-14 12:49:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29792172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luckyrabbit1001/pseuds/Luckyrabbit1001
Summary: Welcome to my French Revolution Hector/Andromache AU, or welcome back to my French Revolution Hector/Andromache AU.Honestly, I don't really know where I'm going with this, but they're my favorite antiquity couple and sometimes you just need that serotonin.
Relationships: Andromache/Hector (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore)
Kudos: 2





	The Swan

_Andromache, I think of you! The stream,_

_the poor sad mirror where in bygone days_

_shone all the majesty of your widowed grief,_

_the lying Simois flooded by your tears,_

_made all my fertile memory blossom foth_

_as I passed by the new-built Carrousel._

Charles Baudelaire (The Swan)

“Sit up!” Her mother hissed, peering outside the window to see if the carriage had arrived yet. A thick fog had settled over the past couple days and had obscured their view of the countryside on the ride over. At tea the previous day, her mother had made sly remarks to their friends, noting that “only Priam and Hecuba would think to bring in the mist for the All Saints Day celebration”.

Andromache had seen through her mother’s posturing though. For all of mama’s cultivated nonchalance and pithy remarks, the slight trembling of her fingers as she snapped the curtains closed gave her away. After all, today was a most important day. _The_ most important day, some might say.

It wasn’t every day that one was supposed to land a Marquis as a husband after all. Not that Andromache had had any say in the matter.

_“He’s tall. And quite handsome. And he really does have all his teeth, and you should do well to note that”. Marie’s review of Andromache’s purported future fiancé was muffled by her struggles to knock a book down from the topmost shelf. Her best friend was many wonderful things, but tall was not one of them, and she was a bit too stubborn to take Andromache’s advice to seek out the stepladder._

_Andromache flipped the page of her book, irritated from where she was lying on the carpet of the library. “A most promising characteristic,” she mumbled to herself. “How lovely that he comes with the same recommendations as the horse that my brother just received. Frou Frou is tall and has strong teeth as well.” Another vicious page turn, as Andromache grew bored. “Perhaps Frou Frou can become my new husband in Hector’s stead.”_

_Marie succeeded in retrieving the novel and sat next to Andromache. “Sorry bun,” She said apologetically. Her face serious now that her task was achieved. “I didn’t mean to be flippant. I just really didn’t get a good look at him during the lunch. He was all the way down the table next to my sister, and Josephine had to be practically dragged away from him once Mama sent for the carriage. Between unclamping my sister from his arm and kicking her through the doorway, I couldn’t really get a word in.”_

_Andromache raised her eyebrows. Marie’s sister Josephine was beautiful and elegant and well-accomplished. Andromache had been more than a little scared of her when they were younger, and Josephine was notoriously picky about men. “Now that is quite a recommendation.” Another page turn._

_“Besides, you’ll get to meet him at the ball tomorrow, no?” Marie grinned and elbowed Andromache. “You can wow the illustrious Hector with whatever no-doubt extravagant gown your mother has prepared and find out if the pride of the Troy family is as wonderful as everyone says he is.”_

_Andromache stifled a groan. Marie was right in that her mother did have a sartorial nightmare planned for tomorrow’s ball. She was going to look like a poofy white mountain, only complete with puff sleeves and a high hairdo. Andromache did not have much experience with men, but even she knew that she was unlikely to tempt anyone in a get-up like that._

_“How did Hector of Troy acquire this reputation anyway?” Andromache asked grumpily. “When I left for Britain, Hector wasn’t ‘of’ anything. You never met a skinnier, unbecoming, unlikeable soon-to-be-marquis.” The harsh words were true. Well, partly true. Hector had been an unlikeable prat when Andromache had accompanied her aunt and uncle for their trip. But his unlikeable-ness hadn’t been constant._

_There had been the Incident. But that was a transient encounter, and not something that was to be mentioned to Marie._

_“You were gone for quite a while, Ande.” Marie said simply. Her grin widened. “You left for Britain and came back to find that the now most-eligible bachelor in France had fallen into your lap.”_

_Andromache’s gaze fell and she avoided looking at her best friend._ Once _upon a time, although she had hidden the secret well, she would have been excited about an easy engagement to Hector. But this was no longer that time._

“Stop chewing your nails, Andromache”. Her mother warned. Andromache could see the lights from the mansion up ahead.

Her mother had finally acquiesced and allowed Andromache to set aside the white monstrosity she had intended her daughter to wear tonight. “A swan is a lovely idea, dear,” her mother protested as Andromache had pointedly stuffed the dress back into the cupboard. “Think of how you’ll look against the night backdrop,” She screeched as Andromache had one foot against the door to keep her out.

“Think of how you’ll stand out from the other girls in front of Hector,” was the subtext her mother might as well have painted on her forehead. If only Andromache was as sure as her mother.

Andromache set one gloved hand on the doorway as the coachman came to get them. Her hand trembled and she dropped it to her skirts. _Imagine a lake,_ her father had always told her. You may have currents and eddies swirling within you, but all they can see is calm water. She sighed and let the coach man help her down as the other two scurried to help her mother out.

A movement at a second story window caught her. Deep plum curtains moving where they had previously been still. Andromache narrowed her eyes. When she had left France three years prior, she had let herself been toyed with. Had been forced to scurry away in fear and pain and spent months crying to her aunt and uncle.

Hector may have become a “tamer of horses” in their time apart, but he’d regret trying to tame her this time.


End file.
